


this love unearned (but still given)

by Quillium



Series: Dr. Wayne AU [7]
Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Dr. Wayne AU, Gen, Steph-centric, can be read as a Standalone fic, the teen rating is for like one swear word. maybe two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27721223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillium/pseuds/Quillium
Summary: “Some mornings,” Steph says, quietly, into the crook of her elbow, “When I don’t want to wake up, or do work, I tell myself that my mom would make me breakfast, if she were living with me. And she would want me to eat breakfast. And that forces me out of bed.”Jason, head bowed, shoulders raised like he’s hiding himself, says, “It’s precious. Being loved.”“It is,” Steph lowers her head, “It’s painful, too, sometimes.”OR: Stephanie Brown, and wondering if she'll ever be enough in her own eyes.
Relationships: Stephanie Brown & Alfred Pennyworth, Stephanie Brown & Barbara Gordon, Stephanie Brown & Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Duke Thomas, Stephanie Brown & Jason Todd
Series: Dr. Wayne AU [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715896
Comments: 7
Kudos: 60





	this love unearned (but still given)

**Author's Note:**

> You know the drill. Get your sleep, drink your water, eat solid food, stretch, eat veggies, do your work, etc. Give yourself lots of love and gentle kindness. I thought about gifting this fic to someone, and I usually give them to Katie, but this one felt like it couldn't be given to someone else, because it was so uniquely mine. It felt cheap to give it away, when it was so clearly mine. Neither my friends nor my story deserve that. I hope you enjoy it, all the same. I hope some part of it connects, and that you give yourself lots of love.

Steph, cross-legged on the bed, room bright as she puts her hair up with a scrunchie and makes a face at the texture.

She should shower, soon. That’s what she’s been telling himself all week.

 _Soon, soon, soon_ . The steady drumbeat of _never gonna happen_ , until it does. Soon.

Not now. But soon. She hopes.

The cold night air bleeding through a small crack in the window that Steph opened _to keep myself awake_ because she has a deadline tomorrow, and her work is building, building, building.

Tim, folded over his bed on his half of the room, eyes drooping as he scrolls through some manga on his phone.

“Sleep soon, Timmy,” Steph mumbles, head pressed against her wall as she types, types, tries, fails. Over and over. Rinse and repeat.

She’s so tired.

“You and I both know that’s not going to happen,” there’s a small smile that he tries to offer her, but it’s wane, and a bit worried.

The others have been worrying about Steph, lately. She thinks it’s unnecessary.

But then again, staring at her assignment that’s due tomorrow that she hasn’t even started yet, trying not to cry, thinking about all the ways she’s a failure, Steph thinks maybe, maybe, they aren’t terribly wrong to worry.

She hates that, though. Hates worrying them. Hasn’t she failed them enough?

Her fingers type, trying, trying, over and over, new things, new attempts, new failures. Success used to be a certainty. Now it feels like a gamble--like the 0.6% chance of getting a five star in her gacha game.

Shouldn’t this weariness be saved for people who aren’t her? Like Tim. Not that she wants Tim to be tired. Just that--Steph usually is better, at this. She’s the put-together one. Somewhat. She’s--

She’s the one who doesn’t care. And she doesn’t… it’s not about the grades, exactly. Well. It is. Indirectly, though.

It’s about her mom. And Bruce. And Tim, and Alfred, and even Damian and Cass and just--

Her family. Her people. And she sees them, every day, trying so hard, doing their best, and Steph _isn’t_.

Steph isn’t doing her best. She knows, because this assignment was posted up a week ago, and she’s starting it the night before. She doesn’t think she can finish it.

She won’t. Her hands are shaking. Her answers are all wrong. She just needs to get it right once. Just once--

Steph feels like a failure. Not because she is one, eternally. But because she’s surrounded by so many people who give it her all, and she gives nothing.

She doesn’t want to work hard, try hard. She doesn’t even feel much of a need to be good, or perfect.

Steph isn’t a hard worker like Tim. She’s not brilliant, she’s not someone who puts her all into things, Steph quits when robotics gets too confusing, Steph gets stressed and runs away, Steph has good mental health because she’s good at running when things hurt.

Except now Steph can’t run, and Alfred brings them hot chocolate and Steph bursts into tears.

And she’s trying so hard not to. At least, until Alfred leaves. Because Alfred’s getting older and he needs rest and heavens know that he’s not getting enough of it and she just--

She’s tired. And stressed. And it’s her own stupid fault, for reading books and playing games and doing all the things that weren’t studying, all the time.

She _saw_ Dick and Jason in university. She saw how hard they worked, how much they put in, and Steph won’t. It’s not that she can’t, it’s that she won’t put it in. She’ll do the bare minimum and what she can and that’s _it_ , she--

Alfred holds her and puts her laptop aside and Steph cries and blows her nose a lot, and she tried to hold it in but not she _can’t_ , so she may as well just cry it all out.

“You aren’t sleeping enough,” Alfred says, gently. “Do you _have_ to do this right now?”

“It’s due tomorrow at midnight,” Steph manages to say through her tears.

Alfred asks if everything’s okay. If she wants to talk. At some point, Tim creeps over and holds her hand.

Blowing her nose, crying into Alfred’s shoulder, rinse and repeat, Steph somehow manages to get it out. To explain it all.

And Alfred asks, gently, “Do you think that you could work harder than you’re working, right now?”

“I don’t want to,” Steph says. She’s still crying. Every time she thinks it will stop, it starts again.

“You’re already not sleeping enough. It’s okay if you fail, and if you think you need to work harder then maybe you can, but not at the expense of your health. That should come first.”

And Steph _knows_ , she does. But it’s hard to do things during the day and it’s hard to do things during night and she’s slow and she doesn’t even _want_ to work hard, really, she just wants to be happy and content with living.

And she is. Staying alive is enough, but it’s _not enough_ , too. Because now Steph is just barely passing her courses and she thinks she might fail her exams and it’s all just--

It’s so much.

Everything’s so _hard_.

Except it’s not even hard. Steph is just slacking and lazy.

Steph is tired and wants to rest.

“I’ll go to sleep,” she says quietly, “When I’m done crying.”

Alfred nods. She cries a lot more, and talks a bit more, and he says, softly, “I don’t know the right answer. I don’t know if you should work harder or if your way is best. That’s something that you have to figure out yourself. But just look after yourself, and take care of your health. Everything else comes second.”

And Steph is loved, so much, and she doesn’t feel like she deserves this love but she knows she has it, has it, and that it won’t leave.

And she is eternally grateful for it.

“I love you, Alfie,” she whispers, and kisses him on the cheek. Then she finishes her hot chocolate, which has turned lukewarm but is still good, goes to brush her teeth with Tim, and thinks, _it’s okay_.

Or it’s not, not really. It’s not okay. But… it will be.

Steph thinks it really will be.

* * *

“You don’t need a reason to love yourself.”

Jason, making hot chocolate for himself and Steph, stirring in dark chocolate and brown sugar with chopsticks.

Steph, listening to him talk, half-curled over the island, ignoring her math notes and long-closed laptop.

“No?” Steph hums.

“No.” 

Jason’s voice is soft. Steph can’t imagine it any other way. Jason says that he used to talk loudly, scared the people wouldn’t listen. She supposes that with time, he learned that this family would listen no matter what. 

“I mean, think about it.” 

He laughs loudly, despite speaking quietly. Steph likes that about him. 

“What’s ‘it’?”

“Let me get to it, miss impatient pants. I don’t really know why most of the people who love me do it--I don’t think most of you even have a justification for it. You just love me.” 

“There are many reasons that you’re great, Jason.”

“Thanks, Steph, I know.”

They laugh at each other.

Jason continues. “And I didn’t earn it in any way--I didn’t do anything in particular to deserve to be loved. The kid down the street is equally as deserving of love as I am. But I got this love, and that kid didn’t. There’s no real reason it had to be me--but it was. So it’s like that with yourself, too. You can just love yourself for the sake of it. And because it makes life so much easier.”

“Philosopher Jason strikes again.”

“I’m being serious here.”

Steph tilts her head to the side and closes her eyes. “I know. And I think you’re right. And I like to think that I do love myself a lot.”

“Loving yourself and liking yourself are two different things.”

“You think I only like myself?”

“Loving yourself involves making yourself sleep enough at night. Exercising for your health. Taking care of yourself, being patient and gentle with yourself. It’s harder than just liking yourself. It’s wanting the best for yourself, and being willing to put in the effort to give it to yourself.”

“Maybe your love is just stronger than or different from mine. You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not easy. Few things worth having are easy.”

Steph stretches and groans. “So I gotta put in the effort.”

“Precisely.”

“Sounds bothersome.”

Jason cracks a smile and laughs at her. “You’ll find some way to manage.”

“Don’t we always,” Steph sighs. “Some way or another.”

He ruffles her hair. “You’re doing a good job, kiddo.”

“You’re not _that_ much older than me.”

“I’m practically ancient, you were the one who said that.”

She laughs, and when the brightness settles, with some seriousness, asks, “Do you think it’s important? To love yourself?”

“I think it’s one of the most important things in this world. Don’t you want a good life? Where you wake when you want, sleep early, exercise, take care of your body, eat well--this is more than I ever dreamed I could have, as a kid. So of course I’ll put the effort in.”

“Isn’t it ever too hard, though? How do you get past that, it feeling like a mountain to pass?”

“I don’t know if you’ll ever stop feeling that. Some days you’re tired, and everything hurts, and you feel like you can’t love yourself. Not because you dislike yourself, even, not because it’s bad, just because it’s too much effort. But you still have to do it. That’s when it’s most important, really, those times.”

“How do you force yourself to do it?”

“You tell yourself that it’s something that must be done. Or you just have to convince yourself that it’s necessary, somehow.”

“How do you convince yourself?”

Jason is silent. He swirls the milk in the saucepan, and then, softly, “I tell myself that it’s for Bruce’s sake. Or Alfie’s sake, or Dick’s, or Tim’s… someone who loves me. That they want to take care of me, that they want me to be shown love. So I gotta do it. Because I love you guys.”

Steph could make a joke, here. Tease Jason for that love.

But it feels too vulnerable. Too raw. And she thinks that she understands.

“Some mornings,” Steph says, quietly, into the crook of her elbow, “When I don’t want to wake up, or do work, I tell myself that my mom would make me breakfast, if she were living with me. And she would want me to eat breakfast. And that forces me out of bed.”

Jason, head bowed, shoulders raised like he’s hiding himself, says, “It’s precious. Being loved.”

“It is,” Steph lowers her head, “It’s painful, too, sometimes.”

“That’s only because it’s important. That’s because you care.”

“Must you say it so frankly?”

Jason laughs. It’s a quiet thing, this time. Because this is something important, a thread, hung between them, a light connection. An understanding of each other.

“Taking care of yourself is hard,” Steph mumbles. “I think it takes some people a lifetime to learn. Maybe all people.”

“Probably,” Jason agrees. “But it’s important. You have to do it.”

He pours out their hot chocolate, and slides her a mug.

“I suppose so.” Steph takes a sip. It’s hot and sweet and perfect. “Love you, Jay.”

Jason’s smile’s a gentle, comforting thing. “Love you, too, Steph.”

* * *

Duke, home after visiting his comatose parents, face buried in Steph’s shoulder. He’s not crying, but Steph feels like if she does something wrong, if she breathes too loudly, he will.

Duke, after seeing his parents, still and unmoving on the hospital beds, the same as ever, is always like this. Fragile. For all that he sees them every week, it’s the same, every time.

“Do you ever,” his voice is soft, like he’s scared that if he raises his voice too much, it will stop working. “Do you ever feel sorry to your parents? For having a child like you?”

“Duke--”

“No. I don’t want--I don’t want comfort right now. I want to know if--if I’m the only one. Who feels this way. Like I’m a failure.”

“You’re not a failure.”

“I know. I know. I’m alive, and that’s what counts, _I know_ , Steph, but the feeling--”

“I know.”

Steph would never admit it to her mom. To Bruce, to Dick, to the others. But to Duke, who _understands_ , who has loving parents who are still around, kind of, she’ll say it. Because they both understand.

“Because they work so hard. Because they love you so much. And you’re here. And you’re barely trying. You try to tell yourself it’s okay to just be alive but you feel complacent. And you don’t want to be anything more. And you hate that about yourself. Because you’re just here--and what’s worse, you’re happy for it.”

“I feel like a failure,” Duke says. “And I don’t even know _why_. Because I’m not--I know I’m not. There’s no--I’m not putting my self worth anywhere. But it’s like--I’m not trying. And everyone else is. Everyone else is working so hard and I’m not. I’m not even trying to be a good person.”

“You’re doing a good job.”

“I don’t think I am.”

“Nobody thinks they are. But you’re still doing a good job, whether you feel it or not.”

“How are your visits with your mom?”

He’s changing the subject, sort of. Sticking to it, sort of. In a way that says _I don’t believe you_ and _I’m too tired to argue about this_ and _no matter what kindness you give me it’ll only hurt because I don’t feel like I deserve it_.

And Steph understands, so she allows it. She buries her face in the side of Duke’s, and says, quietly, “She’s doing really well. She worries about me… you know how good parents are. She told me that I just need to sleep and eat well and that… that everything else comes second. She said she’s proud of me.”

“And you don’t feel like you deserve it.”

“Do you ever?”

Duke shakes his head. He laughs a bit. “I want to hear my mom’s voice. Whatever she says--even if she says she hates me--even if she says that I’m a failure--I want to hear her voice.”

“She wouldn’t say that. She’d be proud of you, too.”

“I know. I think that makes it worse. I’m just being here, useless and she’d still… she’d still say that I need to take care of myself, and eat well, and sleep more. She’d still hug me and let me be stupid and make me that ginger tea with brown sugar that she always gave me when I got sick.”

They’re too old for condolences, too tired for empty hope, so Steph holds Duke a bit tighter and says, “Eat well, Duke. Sleep well… you stay up too late. You’re working so hard--”

And he’s crying. Steph’s crying, too. 

The others don’t get it. Their families weren’t good, or even for Dick, didn’t have him long enough for him to understand, what it’s like, to have family that raised you that loves you so much.

And it wasn’t perfect for Steph, yeah. Her mom’s in rehab for a reason, and Duke’s parents are in a coma from that car crash that caused the stitches running from Duke’s ankle to knee and it’s not perfect but it’s more. It’s so much more.

Bruce is good, Alfred is good, yes, but they weren’t always there. 

Steph’s mom was there. Not perfectly, not the best way, but she was there and Steph knew she was loved, okay? She knew. Even when her dad was a piece of shit, Steph knew that her mom treasured her.

Steph saw it when her mom read her stories at bedtime even though she had to work for her shitty dad’s bail, when her mom cooked dinner even though she didn’t know how so Steph could eat vegetables, when her mom cried when she thought Steph wasn’t looking, when her mom turned to drinking and drugs because everything hurt because she loved Steph.

(And sometimes Steph felt like she was the reason for her mom’s pain, the reason that her mom stayed with her stupid dad, the reason why everything screwd up for her amazing mom.

And she knows her mom would say _no, baby, you’re the best part of my life_ but that almost makes it worse. Because she knows that’s what her mom thinks.

Being loved so much is a treasure and a gift but it’s so hard to bear it, sometimes.

When you’re loved, you can’t self-destruct, or you hurt those who love you. But it’s so hard to be good to yourself, it’s so hard to be kind, and it’s so hard to be the person that you desperately wish you could be for the sake of those precious to you--)

“I want my parents,” Duke says.

 _I want my mom_ , Steph thinks, even though her mom is alive and awake and aware and she has so much that Duke doesn’t. Even though she should be grateful.

But life is hard and for some reason everything hurts and Steph holds Duke a bit tighter and says, “It’s okay to cry,” and the two of them cry a bit more.

What can she say? What can she do? There’s nothing to say, or do, that could be right, here.

So she holds her brother, a bit closer, and falls apart a little, because if they fall apart together, and least the other is there, and the things that hurt, hurt a little less.

And after this, maybe, they can go find Alfred or Bruce, or someone older, more solid, who can say _it’s okay, I love you_ and make it feel--Steph doesn’t know. Better, maybe. 

But this, here, is what they have, and it’s not bad. Because Duke isn’t Steph’s mom and Steph isn’t Duke’s parents but they’re still family, and that’s better than nothing.

It’s a lot better than nothing, really.

* * *

“Family for the boys,” Barbara says, fingers running through Steph’s hair, drinking pomegranate tea, “is something… newer. Something that they got after time without it. It’s different, for us, who grew up with it.”

“Do you ever feel bad about that? That you had it, when it sometimes feels like they deserve it more than you?”

“Of course. I’m always the outlier. My friends never have such good relationships with their parents--it’s never the same, for others. It’s weird, to them, how much my dad and I love each other.”

Steph closes her eyes. “I hate it. I want so badly to just make everything okay for them. And I know that they have us, now, this family, but I know that sometimes Jason wishes his mom loved him or Tim wishes his parents would look at him and I just--it feels so selfish, to be sad when I’m so loved.”

“It’s not a bad thing. You are who you are. Your feelings are valid. Just because you have something they don’t, doesn’t mean you can’t also be hurt by it.”

“I know that my mom wouldn’t want anyone but me. I know that she loves me so much. But that love makes me want to be more than I am, for her sake. And I know that I can’t--I feel like an unfilial daughter.”

Babs laughs. “I know. I feel like that all the time. But I am who I am and… it’s important to my dad that I’m happy. So I just try my best to be happy, and I think, that’s good enough, because that’s what the people who love me want from me.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Of course it isn’t easy. It’s like Jason always says--the things worth having usually require a bit of a struggle to have.”

“I don’t mind,” Steph says quietly, “when I fail. Personally, I mean. I don’t care--I don’t think it affects my self-esteem or anything. And I always know that it’ll work out--that things will be okay, in the end.”

Steph trails off. She doesn’t know if she should keep talking or not. 

Babs hums, a signal to keep going.

“But at the same time I think--I feel like I’m failing the people, who put so much into me. I feel worried that if I fail, my mom will worry, or Bruce will be burdened because he has to pay for my college fees. It’s not for my own sake but--they put so much into me, and care so much for me, I worry that my failure will hurt them, even in small ways. Or in big ways. They already have so much to deal with, you know?”

“Yeah,” Babs sighs. “When I was younger… I put a lot into trying to keep things okay for my dad. The both of us were falling apart after my mom died and I wanted to take care of him.”

Steph holds Babs’ hand. Babs squeezes it, and smiles at her, grateful. 

“Without her around anymore, he was working late hours so that he could give me a good environment to grow up in, so I tried to take care of the little things. Sweeping the floors, washing the dishes, that sort of stuff. Because I knew he wasn’t sleeping enough. He was also… he studied math, you know that? Just so he could help me with homework. I felt so bad. I knew he wasn’t eating enough, too.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“I know. I know that now. But it hurts, no matter what, seeing someone who love work so hard for your sake. And then once my exams came--I was tired. I was studying last minute, doing projects all the time, and things fell to the wayside. Our house got dirtier, dishes piled up a bit more, I was tired and only did the chores every once in a while. And it wasn’t a failure, of course, it was just life--but it felt like a failure. _I_ felt like a failure.”

“You weren’t.”

“And you aren’t, either. You’re not a failure, Steph. You’re doing your best.”

“I don’t feel like I am. I feel like I could do more--like I could do better, or--”

“You’re already hurting yourself. Not sleeping enough, not eating as well as you should. Things are hard, I know. It’s okay to place yourself and your health first. It’s okay to show that love and gentleness to yourself.”

“It’s my fault, though,” Steph hates crying. She’s been crying so much, lately, and it feels so stupid, every time, like it’s her own fault, for being lazy and useless and stupid. “I don’t do as much work during the day. I slack by drawing with Damian or reading manga or playing games--”

“That’s okay. Aren’t you human? You can’t work all the time.”

“But I should. People with jobs don’t slack. Bruce doesn’t take off time from surgeries to play games or read books or--”

“Isn’t it okay, Steph, to let yourself do these things?”

“But I feel like I shouldn’t. Everyone else is working so hard--you are, too. I’m the only one who’s doing these things--I’m the only one who isn’t working hard. I’m the only one who’s just procrastinating and screwing up and not putting in enough effort.”

“I think you’re putting in plenty effort. I think you’re doing enough. But I can’t give you the right answer, Steph. You have to decide what you want for yourself and your life.”

“I don’t want to work hard,” Steph says. “But I feel like I should. Like that’s the right thing to do. And I hate myself for not wanting to work hard--isn’t that just laziness?”

“Maybe you’re tired. Maybe the kinder thing to yourself is to let yourself rest.”

“What if I’m just being lazy? What if indulging that just makes life harder for others?”

“Isn’t it okay, to burden those you love, a little bit, if it means finding happiness for and with yourself?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t know. I don’t want--I want you guys to be happy. I want my family to have--I want others to look at me and say _I don’t have to worry about Steph. Steph is okay_. I want to be someone dependable, who washes dishes and cleans her room and is good without prompt. I want to make others’ lives easier.”

“You can’t do that by hurting yourself. Step one to doing that is to take care of yourself--to eat well, sleep well, exercise.”

“I know that, in my head. But it’s harder--it’s harder in real life. And then I end up staying late, all the time, catching up on the work that I didn’t do when I was supposed to, or earlier in the day, and then I sleep in but I still don’t get enough sleep and it’s--it’s hard.”

“I know. You’re doing a good job.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t feel like I’m doing a good job.”

“You are. I’m proud of you.”

Steph squeezes Babs’ hand. “I love you.”

Babs smiles, soft, kind, and says back, “I love you.”

Steph cherishes it, but thinks, privately, that she still feels as though she doesn’t deserve it.

* * *

“To be honest,” Bruce says, sitting with Steph, awkwardly large on her tiny bed, “I think with that sort of thing, it’s okay to take some time to figure it out. It’s only after you break down that you can start to rebuild, after all.”

“Cheesy. You sound like a motivational journal. Those bad ones.”

“Is that so?” Bruce rubs the back of his head, looking embarrassed. “Sorry. I just… I don’t want you to be hurt, of course. Or feel that way. But there’s only so much I can help you, with this sort of thing. The most of it is up to you.”

“You’re so bad at comforting people.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I like how straightforward you are.”

“I don’t think that it’s a good trait as a father.”

“Good thing you aren’t my father, then. Just my substitute father.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“No, of course not. I don’t depend on you as much.”

“You don’t depend on your blood father at all.”

“Well, Alfie does most of the good, important parenting stuff around here, anyways. You’re a good person to discuss these things honestly with, since you’re so bad at reading the room or softening your blows.”

“I’ve been working on it, with Dick.”

“I know. We’re proud of you, big guy.”

“We’re getting off track.”

“Must you insist on focusing on _my_ problems?”

Bruce smiles, and ruffles her hair. “Yes. I am the adult here, after all.”

“You’re more gentle with Tim.”

“You asked me not to be gentle with you. So I’m being brutally honest.”

Steph laughs. “I don’t know if I’d go that far.”

“Well. You’re still one of my kids, after all. I still treasure you and want to take care of you.”

“You say these things without a hint of embarrassment, huh?”

“There’s nothing the be ashamed of in caring for and loving someone.”

“You’re like a fortune cookie. Filled with ten cent wisdom.”

Bruce smiles, and tilts his head to the side, patient as a statue, watching her quietly. Waiting for her to speak, make the next move.

Steph fiddles with her blanket, staring at the flower pattern on it, and then, quietly, “I like myself. My life. And I do want to love myself. To stay hydrated and sleep enough and eat vegetables and all that stuff that’s important for your health. But I just don’t know--the proper ratio for things. The way to become the person… no. More… I don’t know, anymore, what kind of person I want to be.”

“Is that a bad thing? Can’t you take your time?”

“I suppose I could. But it feels painful to think… that I’d be burdening or hurting the people who love me, in the meantime, while I figure things out.”

“That feeling is a part of growing up.”

“Is it? I didn’t feel this way before.”

“That’s because you were too focused on yourself, before. In high school, when you figure yourself out, you take a lot of things for granted, probably because you’ve always had them. Once you’re a bit older, you appreciate things, people, a bit more. But you feel a stronger sense of responsibility, then--that’s a part of maturity, as well.”

“I like it but I don’t like it.”

Bruce laughs. “I think most people feel that way about aging.”

“Ugh, don’t say it in such an old man way.”

More laughter. Despite herself, Steph laughs as well. The pain in her chest is still there, but the laughter’s honest, pure joy.

“I thought that being an adult was knowing everything, as a kid. Now that I’m a bit older, I feel like being an adult is being able to care for the people who are important to you.”

“Do you feel like an adult, then?”

“No. Not yet. But I’d like to grow up quickly, to get there.”

“It’s okay to take your time. You’re still young.”

“So if I were older, you would rush me?”

“You’ll always be my kid. Whatever time I can give you to figure it out and let you be patient with yourself, I’ll give it to you.”

“See, that’s it. Being an adult. Taking care of the people you love, having the emotional maturity and financial stability and all that nonsense that allows you to do it.”

“You’re doing a good job, already, of loving people.”

“It’s not enough.”

“I think it is.”

“You’re my dad, you _have_ to say that.”

“Hey, you said it yourself, I’m brutally honest and terrible at softening blows. So you know that I’m telling the truth.”

Steph huffs. There’s something not matching there, she wants to say, but Bruce isn’t really wrong, either. “Being young is hard.”

“Living is always hard. But it’s the best option.”

“Of course it is. It’s worth it. But it’s hard.”

“We’ll help you.”

“I know. That’s part of what makes it hard, too. You caring so much.”

“I’m not sorry.”

“No,” Steph presses her head against Bruce’s shoulder and wraps her arms around his waist. “I’m not, either.”

She wants to grow up, quickly. She’s technically an adult but she doesn’t feel like a proper one, yet. She wants to be able to properly love others, to give them patience and love and care.

She wants to love herself and she wants to love others and she wants to be a person who isn’t so clearly defined, yet, but she’s figuring it out.

She’ll grow up, eventually.

For now, she has the people she loves, who love her, to help her along the way.

And for all that it’s hard, and at times painful, Steph is truly, always grateful for this family of hers. It means the world.

“I love you, Bruce.”

He kisses the top of her head and holds her firmly. “I love you, too, kiddo. I got you.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can talk to me on tumblr @quilliumwrites!
> 
> In all honestly, you see it, that it's the same conversation that Steph has, over and over, and she never really learns anything really new from it. There's no proper conclusion, since I have yet to reach one myself. But for now, the idea is, isn't it enough to just love yourself? Care for yourself? For those you love, if not for yourself. Isn't it okay to just exist? To just live? There's no time limit, there's no end goal, it's enough, to exist. And once you're content with existing, maybe try loving yourself. And it's maybe the hardest thing you'll ever do, but you have to do it, all the same, I think. Don't you have to love yourself? Don't you need to be kind to yourself? Because of how much you are loved. You don't need to deserve it. Few, if any people, deserve it. That's fine. It's okay. You're still doing a good job. I'm proud of you.


End file.
